


Bleeding out for you

by Somesuchnonsense



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Beta Read, This Is Sad, a good time all around, and it's been around for a while so here goes nothing, and weird, definitely, plenty of bad headspaces, probably, some blood, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somesuchnonsense/pseuds/Somesuchnonsense
Summary: Loki sees his death in his dreams, but he cannot dread going to sleep because it is his death he sees and no one else's.





	Bleeding out for you

**Author's Note:**

> An experimental piece. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Warning for dissociation, depersonalization, and just that Loki is in an unhealthy mindset in general.

There’s an image of his face tipped up towards the storm, unflinching as the rain turns his skin cold. He sees it in his dreams for months, in the strange way that dreams allow one to see oneself from a distance.

In a way, it's the only time he sees himself. The reflection in the mirror is the Allfather's, and he finds it more and more difficult to tear the illusion away as the months wear on.

His words are the Allfather's, too, perfectly crafted to show age, power, and an all-too-real grief. Courtiers stop asking if he is well after a while, as though they accept that not even the unshakeable Odin is left unchanged after the events of the Convergence.

When at the end of the day he rests his head in his hands, he can feel deep lines carved across his face—of age or of worry—and he wonders whether his illusion can fool even his own hands. He doubts it.

 

* * *

 

Loki sees his death in his dreams, but he cannot dread going to sleep because it is _his_ death he sees and no one else's.

It is his pale fingers that grow cold in the rain, and not the Allfather's knarled hands, and for that glimpse of self alone he is grateful.

He takes a warm bath every morning to fend off the memory of the cold, but a heavy chill settles into his bones that he finds no amount of heat will shake. He wears heavy cloaks and blames the wintry drafts, but he has no excuse for the way his limbs begin to ache. They seem to drag behind him, and he finds it more and more difficult to rise out of bed.

 

* * *

 

He falls asleep and the pieces fade in slowly, always the same: endless, rain-drenched pavement, all else obscured by fog.

He sees himself lying in the water, his face twisted a little with pain. He can feel it dimly in his chest, but the cold is numbing and he chooses instead to feel the rain on his face until he wakes up and rises from the bed with a sigh.

He attends to the business of the kingdom and finds his thoughts filled with practical concerns. The price of grain may be too high this season, and a herd of bilgesnipe has roamed too close to a small farming village. He should call Thor back to hunt them. His brother would likely enjoy it.

He sends a few Einherjar instead and throws a winter feast with the meat they bring back.

He prepares the kingdom, as always, for the looming threat of war with forces beyond the realms, but even the worst memories can fade and this winter has been unusually harsh on the outlying villages.

 

* * *

 

He wakes shivering, and a waiting servant tells him that Heimdall has urgent news.

His memory stirs like the great heaving shadows of the void and drives a hot spike of fear through his icy core. His brain is churning, and by the time he makes his way to the watchman's post he is shivering again. He has to ask Heimdall to repeat himself.

It's Thor. Heimdall fears he and his mortal heroes face a greater adversary than they can handle.

Loki proposes organizing a small number of soldiers to send, thanks the watchman, and leaves.

The moment he is alone in the palace corridor, he tears free of all illusion and teleports to Midgard.

 

* * *

 

When he appears on one of Midgard’s dusty streets, he thinks the world is more in focus than it has been for months. The sounds of a nearby battle seem to clear his tired ears, and his feet are steady even on the trembling ground.

The heroes were indeed in over their heads. He rounds a corner and tears apart a mechanized man before it has a chance to detect him. His hands glow a vibrant green with destructive power as he turns and forces his fingers in the seams of another machine’s armor. He rips it limb from limb and turns on another one.

They know he is here now, and he knows they will come for him. Like calls to like, and these monsters reek of polluted magic. They swarm him.

He launches himself at one, sending a half-formed blade through the creature’s skull. The knife materializes fully, and he wrenches it free. His fingers seem to remember themselves. They send three more daggers into three more opponents with barely a thought, and he finds himself suddenly in a heap of twisted metal debris. He frees himself with a blast of power, destroying yet more machines with pieces of their own fallen ranks.

He has yet to see any of Midgard’s heroes.

Loki fights well, but before long he begins to feel a familiar ache. His joints slow with a creeping frost, and one of the creatures catches him below the ribs with razor sharp fingers. Another bashes him on the head, making the world spin. He is bleeding, and he thinks one of them has broken his elbow. A final blow sends him crashing through a wall. He watches through clouds of dust and his own dripping blood as they step almost gingerly through the hole he made, blocking the light from the street.

He wonders for the first time why he came. Did he hope to play the hero? To save Thor? He thinks perhaps Thor did not need saving.

He pushes himself up, fights and claws and disintegrates his way out of the building. When he finds himself on the street, the pavement is wet with fresh rain and seemingly empty of the machines. Either he has cleared the area of them or they are planning an attack from out of sight.

Regardless, he lets himself sink to his knees on the rain-soaked ground. He holds his bloody hands in front of his face, watching as drops of rain slowly clean them. His fingers are numb. Perhaps he has finally spent enough of himself to simply fade away.

Face tilted toward the gentle storm, he savors the very real feeling of cold rain on his skin, the way all his warmth seems to be leaving him from a point just below his chest. He tilts backwards until he rests on the ground, rainwater soaking through his clothes.

It would have been nice to see Thor, Loki thinks. But now he knows he did not come to Midgard to save anyone.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes, it is to the image from his dreams, but with two vital differences. For one, he cannot see the expression on his own face, but he feels the pain acutely in his chest, his arm, his head. He feels the cold damp of the rain and the warm damp of his blood and he is thankful for that, at least.

But also there is someone next to him.

He frowns and raises a weak hand to swipe at the rain and blood in his eyes. A stronger hand brushes his away, brushes the moisture away, and he sees that Thor is kneeling over him.

“Loki,” he says, and Loki realizes that it was Thor saying his name that woke him. “Loki, can you hear me?”

Loki nods and winces as his head seems to split with the motion, his awareness seems to slither off in different directions.

"What are you doing here?”

Loki thinks that it doesn’t matter what he was doing, now that he is almost done. He smiles and lifts his hand. Thor takes it, and Loki is glad that he is still solid enough for that.

Thor looks confused and afraid, and Loki would like to answer his question, but he is already slipping away.

 

* * *

  

The next time he wakes, Loki is surprised to find he feels warm.


End file.
